Stop Being Doubtful

Dear computer, today’s journey was quite unexpected as I expected it to be. Well, it wasn’t anything much, but I do learn so many things in a quite short trip to my dad’s working place. I knew exactly what my father did. But not this hard, I suppose. I already know that my dad’s job wasn’t a job in front of desks and handling papers or as a manager in an owned industry or somehow that, but he worked as a constructor, someone who orders lower working people to do everything in a building house. What I never imagine was, how my dad never complained about the place he worked at, how hot and smelly place it was, how he never gave up when one of his house building business didn’t run well and sometimes he still have to be mad at me because I didn’t do my mid-term very well while he do all the hard work with my mom.

I have to confess that I myself just scatter around at home, being lazy and somehow look like I never even wanted to try to appriciate what my dad did. Not even once, I think. And I know his work hours and days weren’t as easy I ever imagined it would be. I asked God what can I do to help my parents. I am not a man to continue my dad’s work or even to go there. You know, that place was all man. No wemen except me and 2 housewives from my dad’s workers if I really have to go. I can’t be my mom because I just didn’t know what and how she did things so perfectly. I kept on thinking about it while another stunning thing passed by me when I walked along. It was a sight of my dad’s workers bedroom. No AC, no TV, no laptop, no internet, no room door, no puffy bed. Or maybe you shouldn’t call it as a bed nor a room either. It’s only made up of wood plate or so with one single pillow. I couldn’t imagine what happened if it was me there, sleeping on it. I comlplained quite a lot in my heart about my luxorious home in their eyes.

When I meet one of my dad’s workers (actually my dad was talking and interacting with him. So, like it or not I have to be there, standing and listening to their conversation), he was hammering a piece of wood to another making a thing look a sort of like a square. There was also his wife and 5 year old daughter. His wife sell food and drinks to my dad’s other workers. My mom asked, did their daughter went to school or something, they say  no. could it possibly be she wasn’t going to school at all? Maybe just not yet. I felt a drop of blood rushing through my vein. I somehow felt sad, an unsaid words of pain, about that kind of living they have. They couldn’t really earn much from those kind of work, I have observed. So what about their dreams? Maybe they don’t have one. Is this what their childhood dreams about their future life? Is this what they ever wanted to be or even under their understanding and caring to live this life? But what’s worse, if they don’t have anything to say about what they live for. What they’re worth of. That’s what make me cry and cry and cry again everytime I remembered that scene of life. While my mom and dad chat around, I kept watching their little daughter who was only 5. She only sat there at a corner, watching her dad work. She just stayed silent, watching us back and forth to his dad. I wonder, if she could have something to say about herself or her life, what would it be? Would she be mad because of her life going under what she could have as general kids, those who could go to school and gain a higher level of education? Would it be about the unbalanced day she could have being alone? Would it be about how she don’t want to live the understanding that she didn’t have anything worth living? Or would it just be something we say it was so unimportant that we wouldn’t listen to her cries? It was no doubt about that question. We never listened or care. If we ever care, we would think about how we can help them and tell them that we care about them? How can we approach to them with a true passion, not trying to be the ‘hero’ or trying to be mean without their mindset settled right on that rich people are arrogant, stingy, and selfish, but to tell them the TRUTH. The truth that their life they’re living isn’t worthless. It costs something. It’s not even a “reduce-recycle-reuse” life that contains the worst waste in their life. Okay maybe it’s not totally that, but it’s  the cause and effect we might find around us. People of my age may never learn and understand exactly everything just from a kind of a stupid writing. They have to experience these themselves for the best result in learning. I do need them to really understand and catch in their tiny minds that people who are living under our standards needs to be heard. Not just by hearing them and looking at them, but by what they feel. The same way we felt as we hate when we’re being ignored. Above all, never forget that not all poor people are dirty, ill and most likely to be hungry. Maybe they just couldn’t handle the situation where they couldn’t find enough money in the lack of information they have and they didn’t have anymore opporturnities to work at a higher level. The way I see it, they are lives to save for Christ in their innocent-ment.